Touch
by heytheredorothy
Summary: Ron finds himself alone in a moment when he needs someone most. Sometimes help presents itself in a most unexpected place. Slash, pairing of the RWSS kind. Please review with ways to improve, it keeps me going.


Originally written for my dear Amber, who requested it.

**Warning**: This story contains slash, a male/male pairing. It concerns the relationship between two men in a romantic manner, if you can't deal with that, don't read it. The pairings concerned are Draco/Harry (in the beginning, to give basis to the story) and Ron/Severus.

**Disclaimer**: All characters appearing in this story are the property of J.K. Rowling and affiliates. They do not belong to me. I believe Ms. Rowling would with be suitably appalled… or vaguely amused if she saw what some of us had in store for her characters. At any rate, I refuse to let up until she gives Professor Sprout a first name! Have any of you ever noticed that she doesn't have one! And she's the head of Hufflepuff house! Poor nameless woman… I should start some sort of campaign.

**Setting**: I'm going to say sixth year. That sounds about right.

* * *

He wasn't sure who he was jealous of, Harry or Draco. He could see every time Harry would sneak off under his invisibility cloak and into Flitwick's empty classroom, only to meet Draco Malfoy, once a sworn enemy, now somewhat of a teenage lover. Sometimes Ron wished he were in Harry's place, so he could go down and touch the boy who he had claimed to hate for so long in a way that would partly fill his need for love in these lonely years. Some times he wished he was Draco, so things could go back to the way they were before, before Harry had left him for a darker kind of temptation. They had always _experimented_ on each other, Harry and Ron. They were each other's first kiss. Ron remembered the first time he had seen Harry naked. They had been fifteen. He was sixteen now. Longing for more.

Saturday night Harry ran off again, to meet the blond who Harry told his dorms eager ears "made fireworks light up behind his eyes." Ron wanted fireworks. Fireworks and love and flowers and someone to hold him right now!

He left the Gryffindor common room with a neutral look on his face, fighting back tears a _real man_ couldn't shed. If anyone saw him crying they would give him hell. He wouldn't hear the end of it if Fred and George saw. He sighed, going whatever way his feet took him, usually down the darker, emptier corridor. In the end he found himself in the hall he took to go to potions class. It was deserted. _Perfect._ He leaned up against the cold wall and slid down to the floor. He pulled his knees to his chest and put his head in his arms, then he let it out.

To cry almost hurt in the beginning. There was tension in his throat that he had trouble releasing. When he did the sobs filled the hallway and bounced off the walls echoing over and over. He pounded a fist on the floor, cursing through his cries. "Damn it! Damn it! Bloody hell!" It was during this outburst he realized he wasn't as angry with Harry and Draco, as he was disgusted with himself.

The sobs ended because his throat was raw and his eyes were empty. Deep, broken breathing replaced the sorrow as Ron tried to get back what he had lost in fifteen minutes. "Bugger this." He whispered to himself. "Can't get what I want, what I need. I'm so bloody lame. Neville gets more than I do for God's sake, and here I am, sitting in a hall, giving a fucking soliloquy! Damn it!" He pounded his fist against the wall then jumped as a second voice came from down the hall. An unmistakable voice…

"Is that you, Mr. Weasley, pounding on the school walls like our resident poltergeist and making that noise reminiscent of a banshee?"

That voice belonged to Severus Snape, Ron's least favorite teacher at Hogwarts. Footsteps grew nearer, and within seconds, he could see the man's outline in the darkness, looking down at Ron. He wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his maroon jumper and spoke quietly. "Sorry Sir. Just needed some time alone." Under his breath he muttered, "But I can never bloody well get it in this place."

Another step was taken towards Ron by the dark robed man. Ron could make out his face now, a little. His eyes didn't seem as cold but then again it was dark.

"Are you crying Mr. Weasley? That seems rather unlike your clan. Now doesn't it. Haven't seen a Weasley cry since Percy his first year. Bloody annoying lad…"

Ron smirked at mention of his brother. Percy! Percy was always the girl of the family, even more so then Ginny. He almost laughed when… wait, this was Snape! "Shut up about my brother!" _Shit_! No doubt that would get Gryffindor minus twenty points, or some other absurd number. But to Ron's surprise, Snape dropped the mention of Percy as quickly as he had brought it up. In fact, he moved on to a new one.

"My God, you are so like your brother, Bill."

The words were not filled with contempt, anger, loathing as they so often were. When he said Bill's name, it was almost tender and kind. Ron's eyebrows raised and he was quite aware of the look of utter confusion.

"Stand up Ronald." Snape said quietly, again with that odd tenderness Ron found so unnatural. Nevertheless, he followed Snape's orders quickly, and it suddenly dawned on him that he had never heard his potions master use his first name. "Now tell me, why were you crying."

Ron looked away, still leaning against the wall. How could he tell this man who would usually have spit on rather then spend five minutes with (but however was now making him feel a little warm), that he was crying because of _boy problems_. He rubbed his arms and bit his bottom lip wondering what lie would get him out of saying he wanted someone to hold on to. But Snape could read his mind.

"Don't lie to me. I have an uncanny ability to tell when someone is lying."

Ron turned and found himself face to face with Severus Snape. His eyes bore into Ron's, and there was a softness there was hadn't been present before. There was an odd look of concern on the older man's face that Ron found comforting, and before he knew it, the words spilt from his mouth. About Harry and Draco, Ron's jealousy and need for love, and how stupid it all was that it was such a big deal. When he had finished he was nearly in tears again. To hide the shame he felt he covered his face with his hands and looked away.

After a moment he felt Snape's hands touch the side of his face, and willingly, Ron let his guide it back to face him. Snape's hands moved to Ron's wrists and he removed them from his face. In an act that could almost be taken for fondness, Snape wiped the tears from Ron's face. As he did so, Ron felt something welling within the pit of his stomach, it was the same feeling he had had when he had first seen Harry without clothes on. Snape's demeanor had changed drastically and Ron felt himself drawn to the man, like a moth would be drawn to flame. A flame, that is what lit when their eyes met in the next second.

It was Ron who had leaned in first and captured his teacher's lips with his own. He had expected Snape to be hesitant, or more likely to shove him off and deduct two hundred points from Gryffindor, but he didn't. He took Ron's mouth eagerly, devour his young lips with an ease and skill that Ron hadn't expected.

When Snape's tongue had passed Ron's lips and explored the boy's mouth, his knees gave out, causing Snape to grab him around the waist to support him. Ron clutched at the robes on Snape's back, grateful he had something to hold on to.

Snape lowered himself and his student to the floor and Ron broke the kiss an instant, to look into the man's eyes. He reached the floor, still staring, searching for something, although he didn't know what. He didn't know what he was trying to find; perhaps it was the reason why Snape had let Ron kiss him, and now why he was holding now, they way he was.

Ron was in his arms, wanting more, wanting everything. To see the man behind the façade and the robes and the forever-stern expression that seemed to be tattooed to the man's skin. He wanted to see his past, present and future, to the stars and back into his soul. His hand moved blindly over Snape's face. The tips of his fingers traced his lips and eyelids. They found his cheekbones. Ron was a child who had woken up from a nightmare to discover that everything was all right, the expression on Snape's face now said "It was just a dream, it was just a dream. I'm here now."

Ron leaned his face into Snape's neck, breathing in his scent and the memory of this moment, of which he hoped he would never leave. But he needed to ask. He needed to know. "Why?" He said, letting his lips brush the skin on Snape's neck, knowing the man would understand exactly what he meant.

Snape sighed slightly, making his grasp tighter on Ron. "Perhaps," he said, in a voice not his own, "it is because everyone needs something Mr. Weasley, and we both wished for the same thing. A pillar, something to hold on to. Touch, because it tells us we are not alone. But touch is an illusion Mr. Weasley, because it can lie, like so much else in this world." He paused for a moment, looking away from Ron, a look of pain flitted across his face before dissolving, and he returned his gaze to the redhead. "Touch lies. It can make us believe we are not alone, when all we have done, is alienate ourselves and made ourselves more alone than we ever were. It is lust, love, hate, and insanity, but mostly insanity. Touch lies Mr. Weasley, like it does now, and it will in the future, for both of our lives. Never trust anyone who touches you more deeply than you can understand. For it will destroy you." He paused once more, a tear now running down his own face. "It will destroy you."

With that, he left Ron sitting on the floor of the corridor, and he was gone in a second, in a cloud of black silk.


End file.
